Boyle said nothing, although the look he gave the forward man was blasting and not without effect. The fellow fell back; something which looked like a roll of bills passed from Boyle's hand to Axel Peterson's, and with a jerk of the shoulder, which might have been intended as a defiance to his rival or as an expression of resignation, Boyle moved back a little into the crowd, where he stood whispering with his friends. Peterson's face lit up again; he swallowed and stretched his neck, wetting his dry lips with his tongue. The preliminaries were gone over again by the clerks with deliberate dignity; the card bearing the doctor's signature was produced, his identity established, and the chart of the reservation again drawn forward to check off the land as he gave the description. "What tract have you selected, Dr. Slavens?" asked the clerk with the blank. Dr. Slavens drew from the pocket of his coat a crumpled yellow paper, unfolded it, and spread it on the shelf. "The northwest quarter of Section Six, Township Twelve, Range Thirty-three," he replied, his eyes on Hun Shanklin's figures. Jerry Boyle almost jumped at the first word. As the doctor completed the description of the land he strode forward, cursing in smothered voice. "Where did you get that paper?" he demanded, his voice pitched an octave above its ordinary key by the tremulous heat of his anger. Dr. Slavens measured him coldly with one long, contemptuous look. He answered nothing, for the answer was obvious to all. It was none of Boyle's business, and that was as plain as spoken words. Boyle seemed to wilt. He turned his back to the winner of Number One, but from that moment he stuck pretty close to Axel Peterson until something passed between them again, this time from Peterson's hand to Boyle's. Peterson sighed as he gave it up, for hope went with it. Meantime a wave of information was running through the crowd. "It's Number One," men repeated to each other, passing the word along. "Number One got here!" Hurrying to the hotel, Agnes was skirting through the thinner edges of the gathering at the very moment when Dr. Slavens turned from the window, his papers in his hand. As he went to his weary horse and took up the reins, the creature greeted him with a little chuckling whinny, and the people gave him a loud and hearty cheer. When the cheering spread to the people around her, Agnes stopped and asked a man why they did that. She spoke a little irritably, for she was out of humor with people who would cheer one man for taking something that belonged to another. That was the way she looked at it, anyhow. "Why, haven't you heard?" asked the man, amazed, but enlarged with importance, because he had the chance of telling somebody. "It's Number One. He rode up on a horse just in the nick of the second and saved his claim." "Number One!" said she. "A horse!" "Sure, ma'am," said her informant, looking at her queerly. "Here he comes now."